Rum and Sweet Apples
by Erinya
Summary: Elizabeth, having lost both the men she loved, tries to drown her grief in rum. Her new Captain is not pleased. Ana x Elizabeth, JE and WE presupposed. Post DMC.


**Pairings** Elizabeth/Anamaria, acknowledges Elizabeth/Jack and Elizabeth/Will  
**Warnings** Girlslashy.  
**Disclaimer**: Like the lilies of the field, I do not profit, neither do I own.  
**Summary**: Elizabeth, having lost both the men she loved, tries to drown her grief in rum. Her new Captain is not pleased. This story assumes that even Jack Sparrow cannot be brought back from the dead.  
**Notes**: Don't know why I always associate flavors with these two. This is angsty, oddly AU-ish, and switches POV in-scene which I _never_ do. Never say never, I guess; that's just the way the story ended up operating, and far be it from me to argue. (In Soviet Russia, story write _you_!)

* * *

**Rum and Sweet Apples**

There was a good deal of rum to be had that night, and Miss Elizabeth Swann had imbibed far more than her fair share of it. Once, she remembered dimly, in another life, she had thought it a vile drink, fit only for burning; but she had developed quite a head for it these days, or so she thought, as she draped herself over the ship's rail and sang softly to herself.

"Yo ho, yo ho, a pirate's life for me..."

But it was a mistake to sing that song. Suddenly she was thinking of Jack, who was dead, and Will, who had left her when he realized how much she cared that Jack was dead. He'd badgered her until she'd cried out, yes, damn him, she had loved Jack, and she had killed him, and she was sorry after all, and what did Will want of her? And Will had given her a cold look--so cold, she'd never known his eyes could be that hard, like black ice--and said, nothing you can give. Then he had walked away, down the harbor into the port town where they had anchored for the night, and she had never seen him again.

It didn't hurt, not anymore. She was numb to it. The rum helped. Had she ever loved Will? She couldn't remember. She thought she must have, for she'd said it enough times. And she must have loved Jack, for she'd told Will as much; it must have rung true, because he believed her enough to hate her.

"Damn you," she whispered, and she didn't know who she was cursing. Jack, Will, herself, the cruel irony of a fate that had lost her everything except her freedom. She still had that. Freedom, and the sea, and rum.

She tipped the bottle in her hand to her lips, but only a trickle graced her thirsty tongue. _Scratch that last bit, then._ "Bloody empty..."

A high swell rocked the boat as she stepped down from the rail to remedy the rum shortage, and she would have fallen had not a wire-strong arm wrapped around her waist, while a warm body pressed against her back to hold her up.

"God's _teeth_, girl. What is wrong with you?" The Captain's voice carried the sharp edge of exasperation.

"The rum's gone," Elizabeth explained, and tipped it up again to demonstrate, tonguing the last few precious drops from the lip of the bottle as she leaned back gratefully against the Captain. It had been a longish time since she'd been touched in kindness, she thought, without much consequence and some confusion; the press of firm breasts against her shoulder and upper arm comforted her and stirred her, low in her belly, a coiling warmth that only half had to do with the rum.

"That's because you've drunk it all," snapped Anamaria; although, had she been paying attention, Elizabeth might have noticed a curiously intent expression cross the dark, delicate face. "Come along with you." She shifted, slipping her shoulder under Elizabeth's arm, guiding her towards the hatchway.

"I can walk," Elizabeth objected, and stumbled as she spoke, her own arm tightening around Ana's waist. "I just need more rum."

Ana gave her a grim look, changing courses slightly. "And I say you've had plenty enough already. Here." She swung open the door to the Great Cabin, pulling Elizabeth inside.

"But…" Elizabeth glanced around at her surroundings, said hazily, "No, Ana. You don't have to lend me your quarters."

"I trust my men," Ana said shortly. "But they're still men. I won't let you sleep below like this." She gave Elizabeth a little shove toward the bed; the girl sat suddenly, looking a bit bewildered, somewhat alarmed, and quite thoroughly inebriated.

"'M a grownup," Elizabeth said mulishly. "I can take care of myself."

"Can you?" Ana regarded her, arms folded, anger rising. "Tell me, what exactly are you trying to do to yourself? Drink yourself to death, or Jack Sparrow back to life?" Elizabeth's head jerked up at that, but Ana went on mercilessly. "A soused hand's no use to me at all, you know. You were drunk the night I took you on, Swann, and you have been ever since."

"I was not!" Elizabeth flared.

It was a lie, and they both knew it. Ana, considering the flushed, disheveled, glaring woman before her with narrow-eyed irritation, was struck by a sudden vivid memory of that night in Tortuga: the slight figure swaying on the other side of the public room; the fixed attention of the men, like sharks scenting blood in the water; their pawing, possessive hands.

Ana hadn't been able to keep her gaze from the graceful, shapely form either, had thought she was a particularly young and inexperienced prostitute, taking the edge off her first shift with ale and rum. The men's guffaws and leers had made her throat close with disgust. She'd risen to stride purposefully into their midst, leant in with a hand at the girl's waist and whispered an offer in her ear; she'd meant to pay for her herself, so that this night at least would not be a horror for her but accord her a little pleasure for once. The wastrels drifted away when they saw Ana coming, leaving the two women alone in a small bubble of empty space; she must have worn some look that warned them off. And then the maid had turned fully around and Ana had seen her face, the dull desperation in those wide, lovely eyes turning to recognition and relief.

"You," she'd said. "I know you."

"And I know you," Ana said, although she had never really known Elizabeth; she only knew that the woman standing before her now had very little left of the fierce young miss who'd been daft as Jack and twice as infuriating. And very beautiful. She still was beautiful, Ana supposed; but the fire in her eyes had dwindled to dim embers, quenched by rum and, perhaps, tears. "Elizabeth, isn't it?"

The girl nodded. "You're...you were Jack Sparrow's friend. Anamaria."

Ana had been surprised the girl remembered her name. She hadn't seemed the sort to remember pirates' names. "Jack and I were hardly friends," she drawled. "But I sailed with him, aye." She looked Elizabeth up and down, noting the jutting collarbones, the shabbiness of her dress, the dirt under her fingernails and circles under her eyes. "What are you doing here? This ain't any place for a lady."

Elizabeth had looked away. "I'm hardly a lady anymore. And I've nowhere else to go."

She said it with a hint of the defiance Ana remembered. "You're a fair hand on board a ship, ain't you? Seem to recall you had a knack." She paused. What harm could it be, to give the girl a berth? "I've a place on my sloop, if you want it."

Elizabeth had jumped at the offer. Ana wondered now if she should have made it. The Swann girl was broken where she was once strong, and she still only knew a little of the why of it. On their way back to the _Lady Morgan_ she'd said, "So ol' Jack Sparrow--"

"He's dead," Elizabeth had said, too quickly.

"So he finally ran out of ways to cheat the devil, did he."

"Yes." The single word was tight, final, brooking no further questions.

Ana hadn't pushed her, then, but now, in her cabin, the girl before her destroying herself with rum and grief, she was fed up enough to do so. "Feeling sorry for yourself, are you?" she snapped. "Becoming Jack won't do him any good, y'know."

"I know," Elizabeth said, her voice tiny. And suddenly she buried her face in her hands, too-slender shoulders shaking.

"Oh, hell." Cursing herself most of all--but also, comprehensively, weeping governor's daughters, the inventor of rum, and, for good measure and just in case he wasn't damned already, Jack Sparrow--Ana went to her, stroking back the tangled honey-colored curls; and Elizabeth unexpectedly leaned into her, turning her head to rest on Ana's breast. The contact startled Ana into momentary stillness. "It's all right," and she had to remind herself that Elizabeth was very drunk, that the small hot hand gripping her shirt was the hand of a woman who wanted a mother's comfort, not a lover's touch.

"It's not all right." Elizabeth said into Ana's shirt, and Ana could felt the heat of her breath on her skin even through the fabric. "I killed him, Ana. I kissed him, I betrayed him. I sent him down to Davy Jones."

Ana drew a breath at this. "Ah." So that was it, the reason for the rum and the quenched light in Elizabeth's eyes. "An end he richly deserved, no doubt of that." Ana settled beside her, and Elizabeth moved willingly into her embrace, her body curling sweetly against Ana's side. "Tell me," Ana said simply, trying to ignore the slow heat spreading through her own body. She wondered if Elizabeth had ever been with a woman; and pushed away the thought. Not now. Maybe something to find out later, but not now.

Little by little the story tumbled out; Elizabeth's interrupted wedding day, the arrest, Jack's lies, his debts, his desperate gambits that put all his crew in danger. Behind it Ana read the story Elizabeth didn't tell. She had loved Jack; and it seemed that in the end, Jack had loved Elizabeth, in his way. And in a way, had died for her...

"You did what you had to do," Ana said, when Elizabeth had run out of words and, finally, out of tears. "Jack knew that. He would have expected it. You did what was right by you, and saved the lives that could be saved."

Elizabeth lifted her head to stare at Ana. "You don't hate me," she said, in tones of wonder. Her breath smelled of rum and sweet apples.

Ana shut her eyes briefly. "No. I don't hate you."

She moved as if to rise, but Elizabeth grasped her arm. "Don't go," the girl said quickly. "Please. I need..."

They were very close. Elizabeth's eyes were liquid and darker than Ana remembered, her full lips parted, glistening...Ana shook her head to clear it, sober though she was. "You should sleep."

"I couldn't," Elizabeth whispered. "Ana..." And suddenly her mouth was on Ana's, hot, lush, and hungry, her hand snaking around Ana's neck, her tongue licking eagerly at Ana's lips.

They were both breathless when they broke apart. "You're drunk," Ana said sharply, though her heart was pounding.

"I'm sorry." Elizabeth drew away, suddenly shy, flushed. "I thought…I remembered what you said to me, in Tortuga, and I thought you wanted..."

"To show you how one woman might pleasure another?" She traced the silken cheek with the backs of her fingers, saw how Elizabeth leaned into the touch. "Aye. I do want."

Oh, God, how she wanted. Wanted to lick down the curve of that arched swan's neck, to follow that flush down below the collar of the girl's shirt, to slide her hand over the smooth, soft skin and down into her breeches, see the wan face transformed by pleasure, ignite the fire that belonged in her eyes.

"Then why...?"

If she were any other girl. If she were just any girl. But no; she shook her head. Not this girl, not broken as she was and lost. Not like this. And yet...

"Lie back," she said, her voice made brusque by desire.

Elizabeth did so with a little sigh, turned her head to one side on the pillow to watch Ana, gaze half-lidded and expectant, her hair a wild spread of spun gold beneath her. Ana found herself wishing that the Spartan bed was finer, softer, the coverings less faded and rough; this girl, she thought, this beauty should be surrounded by only fine and lovely things. "My boots are still on," Elizabeth said, in the heavily ingenuous tone of one who, though incapacitated by alcohol, still thinks herself clever. Ana nearly laughed. _Jack would be proud._

"Oh, here." Ana pulled them off for her, dropping them with a thump to the floor, then bent to remove her own, almost self-conscious under Elizabeth's steady regard. When she had shed her coat and her sword-belt, she swung her legs up onto the bed, stretching out beside Elizabeth and gathering her into her arms. Elizabeth shifted closer into the curve of Ana's body, cushioning her head on Ana's shoulder with a small noise of comfortable pleasure that lit Ana's blood afire all over again.

"'S nice," Elizabeth murmured. Her palm was flat and warm on Ana's belly, and after a moment she said, "You're not going to..."

"Not tonight, I'm not." Ana snorted. "What do you take me for? I might be a pirate, but I'm no man, to take advantage when you're unlikely to say no."

"I'd wouldn't. Say no, I mean." Elizabeth's fingers played lazily with the hem of Ana's shirt, brushing the skin beneath, feather-light; Ana shivered.

"I know."

"Ana..." Her voice was drowsy. "There will be other nights."

"Aye, that there will." Ana smiled into her hair, inhaling the scent of her, memorizing it. "It's all right, my girl. Go to sleep."

"And you won't leave."

"I won't leave," Anamaria said softly; and knew by Elizabeth's slow deep breaths that the other woman had already fallen asleep. But she lay awake long after, and not only because she was so many years accustomed to bunking alone while at sea.


End file.
